


All you have to do is call my name

by fardareismai



Series: Where You Lead [6]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Family Relationships - Freeform, First Time, Gilmore Girls AU, dealing with past relationships, early relationships, jefferson/ruby mentions, talking about sex, there be smut ahead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-05 00:44:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11002416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fardareismai/pseuds/fardareismai
Summary: The gossip in Storybrooke that they're sleeping together is wrong, but if everyone already thinks they are, why aren't they?Story five in Where You Lead, an OUAT Gilmore Girls 'verse.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **The usual disclaimers:**
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> **1) This is the fifth story in a series, I definitely recommend going back to the beginning before starting this story. The previous stories, in order, are[Flowers](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7873537), [Road](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9223946), [Worth](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9911315), and [Loving](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10888017).  There's also [Follow](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8399323), which is one-shots and missing scenes.**
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> **2) WhoLockGal is the best and is the only reason I can ever get words to paper for this or any other story.**
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> **3) Weekly updates on Fridays**
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> **And a new one:**
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> **4) THIS STORY HAS NAUGHTY BITS IN IT!!!**
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> **If you don't like naughty bits, I'll be providing a link to a redacted version in the author's note when we get there.**
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> **Okay, I'm trying to keep this quick this week 'cause there be kissing ahead!**

The Jolly Roger wasn't yet open when Emma arrived and peeked in through the front windows. She was no lover of early mornings, but the news she wanted to share with Killian was too good to wait for normal business hours.

She could see him there, dark hair still damp from his shower, chin unshaved, moving from table to table, checking levels of salt and pepper in the shakers on each. He'd hired Jim Hawkins and Ned Land at the beginning of the summer to help, but he still insisted on doing the morning preparations himself, before the boys came in.

Emma knocked on the glass of the front door and grinned when he turned to look at her, scowling. She knew him well and could see the slight tilt of his lips and the sparkle in his eye that said he was happy to see her. It had also been well over a week since they'd been able to arrange their schedules to have more than five stolen minutes in his pantry together. She knew he'd missed her, though he probably wouldn't say it. She had missed him as well, which was her secondary reason for choosing the early hour to bring him the news.

He crossed the diner with a slow, deliberate swagger and Emma rolled her eyes, knowing what was coming. He unlocked the door, taking his time (Emma swore she'd pick the lock herself next time- Sheriff Humbert would forgive her) and when she'd have pushed the door straight in, he caught it and held it open a bare inch.

"We're not open yet, Swan," he said through the crack. "Did you turn your alarm clock upside down and read the six as a nine?"

"Let me in, Kil," Emma said, leaning on the door. It both annoyed and impressed her that, even with almost her full weight against it, he still managed to hold the door steady at that one, frustrating inch.

"What are you doing here, Emma?" He was no longer even pretending to scowl at her. He was smirking, an expression that shouldn't have been nearly so appealing, but he managed to make sexy. He knew he was frustrating her and was enjoying the game.

Though she'd hardly admit it to him, she was enjoying it too. Circumstance had robbed her of the usual youthful pursuits of flirting and play, and she found as an adult that they were remarkably fun.

"I'm looking for advice," she said, leaning against the door again which still didn't budge. She glanced down and saw that his black boot was blocking it, which would explain why she couldn't move him. "See there's this guy-"

"Should have guessed," Killian interrupted, crossing his arms and affecting a casual air. "Handsome bloke?"

Emma shrugged, trying and failing to repress her grin. "Depends on who you ask. I suppose he's alright if you're into that sort of thing."

"'That sort of thing' being stunning blue eyes, movie-star faces, and god-like physiques?" Killian asked.

Emma just flapped a hand in the air as though this were nothing and he shook his head.

"If he's not handsome, then he must be charming," he drawled.

"Well he certainly _thinks_ he is."

Killian snorted. "Fine, not handsome or charming, then he must be a roguish adventurer or dashing rapscallion."

Now it was Emma's turn to snort. "He's a grumpy ass and a workaholic."

"Sounds like a catch."

Emma grinned. "Not so much, but my kid likes him alright, so I'll keep him around for a bit. More to the point, the Lifetime channel lied to me. It's not actually very easy for a working single mom and a small-business owner to get their acts together and actually see each other sometimes."

"Sounds like a conundrum. I wonder that you'd ask me rather than Dear Abby."

"Oh I asked her, you can check it out. I'm 'Stressed in Storybrooke.'"

"Then why come to me for advice on your love life if Abby's already provided it?"

"The next issue of the paper doesn't come out until September. Seems a long time to wait. What I'm wondering is if you think this small-business owner would be willing to accommodate a working single mom in the early hours of the morning, before said small business opens, for coffee and necking?"

"I'm shocked, Swan!" Killian said, not looking shocked at all. "Here was me thinking you were bringing me news of the tender shades of love between our own David and Mary Margaret, but instead you've come to make free with my virtue? For shame." His grin was downright lascivious by that point.

"How the hell do you already know?" Emma asked, surprised. "She only said yes this morning!"

"Oh Swan," Killian said, shaking his head and finally opening the door to let her into the diner, "I've known for weeks. Dave's been carrying that damned ring around since their third date."

Emma followed him in and across the linoleum to the far table where his large containers to refill his salt and pepper shakers were waiting.

"She said it was his mom's ring?" she asked.

"Aye. He offered it to Katherine, but she wanted new. That should have been his first warning, but he was always a bit stupid where she was concerned."

"You and I have no room to judge, I think," Emma said, perching herself on the edge of one of the tables to watch him. "Have you heard from Milah lately?"

"They're in Portland and she's found a new frontman," Killian said, nudging her off the table and running a cloth where her bottom had been. "Neal?"

"He calls Henry once a week, but he and I haven't done more than pass the phone off," Emma answered.

"Thank goodness for small mercies," he muttered, and Emma ignored this.

"They're planning the wedding for the spring. If they use Henry's birthday again-"

"Mary Margaret and David are waiting that long?" Killian sounded surprised.

"Oh, no. That's Tamara and Neal. Mary Margaret wants a winter wedding- December 18, I think."

"Ah, that sounds closer to right. And will your gown be an explosion of pink tulle?"

Emma snorted. "Ruby and I are going to design the dresses ourselves- Mary Margaret gets power of veto, but at least we know they won't be horrible. Belle swears whatever Mary Margaret says will be fine, of course, and I'll be sewing them. I assume David asked you to stand up with him. Who else is on his side?"

Killian looked at her sideways, long lashes sweeping down over his eyes as he glanced away. "I figured you'd heard," he said, casually. "His brother, James and… I understand he's going to ask Henry as well."

Emma's mouth hung open. "Henry?"

"Aye. Handsome lad? Brown hair? About so high?" Killian held his hand a few inches below his shoulder with an ironic brow raised.

"Stop it. Why Henry?"

Killian shrugged and looked away again. "He loves Henry like his own. Don't you know that? We all do."

Emma leaned against the counter as she considered this. She did know that David and Mary Margaret considered Henry a member of their family, and the feeling was completely mutual. Still, it was remarkably generous of them to share such a large part of their wedding with her son.

The thought of Henry in a tuxedo, standing among men, made Emma's heart twist and she felt, oddly, as though she might cry.

"I'm going to have to see if Mary Margaret would be willing to invite Regina," she murmured, lost in thought.

"Oh? Why?"

Emma jumped at the voice that came from much closer than expected, rumbling low, just past her ear. Sometime while her mind was wandering, Killian had crept up on her and was standing just behind her. Now that she was paying attention, she could feel the radiating warmth from him at her back. She made to turn, only to find his hand at her hip, keeping her in place.

"Why invite Regina?" he asked again, breath ghosting over the sensitive skin at her jaw.

"What are you doing?" Emma asked, shivering.

"I was promised necking if I allowed strange women to enter my diner before business hours. I'm just making good on that contract."

Emma gasped when his mouth made contact with the tender skin just behind her ear.

"I believe _I_ was also promised coffee," she said, her eyes drifting shut.

"It's brewing, Love. Why does Mary Margaret need to invite your mum?"

"Um-" Emma said, having trouble organizing her thoughts as Killian's soft, warm mouth made its way down to her neck and every muscle in her body seemed to melt against him. "She'll… she'll want pictures of Henry in his tux," she managed.

"Mmm-hmm," Killian murmured, arms going around her waist to hold her up and pull her against him.

"If I try to take the pictures, I won't get it right," she finally got out as his teeth scraped gently against the join of her neck and shoulder.

"And you're in the wedding party," Killian said, lifting his head to nuzzle his nose at her ear. "You can't exactly be taking photos while Mary Margaret and David are exchanging vows."

"True," Emma agreed, repressing the disappointment she felt at the fact that he wasn't kissing her anymore. "I don't think Mary Margaret will mind though. My mom is mostly housetrained."

Killian didn't say anything, but with a slight rustle of clothing, his mouth was on the other side of Emma's neck and his hands were sliding up her side, thumbs brushing the outsides of her breasts, then stroking back down to her waist.

"If George walks by, he's going to be scandalized," Emma said, leaning her head over to give him better access.

"To hell with George," Killian growled, finally turning her and pressing her back to the counter so he could lean down, his lips just barely brushing hers. "Besides, this was your idea. I'm just an innocent victim here."

Emma grinned, his lips grazing hers feather-light as they moved. She draped her arms over his shoulders and leaned, just barely, into him. "Who do you think George is going to believe here?" she asked, fingers toying with the short, silky hairs at the back of his neck. "His least-favorite neighbor, or little ol' me?" She fluttered her eyelashes at this last and Killian groaned.

"If I'm going to be hanged as a depraved debaucher, I might as well earn it," he muttered and dove into her mouth for a long, searing kiss.

Emma sighed and melted, trusting the counter and his arms to keep her standing and opened to him like a flower. She and Killian had been moving slowly for nearly three months. Their incompatible schedules had exacerbated the decision, but it had been a clear, if unspoken agreement that they were neither of them interested in leaping without looking. They had both been aware, from the beginning, that there was too much at stake.

Three months of goodnight kisses that kept her up at night, stolen moments behind the diner or at town events, and one memorable night when Henry had been in Misthaven when they'd made out on her sofa like teenagers had Emma's libido screaming in protest every time she pulled away from him. His own statement echoed what she'd been thinking for weeks: the entire town thought they were sleeping together, so why weren't they?

Part of the issue was Henry, of course, though he was more excuse than true barrier. Emma knew she couldn't keep her son separate from her relationship given that Henry considered Killian one of his best friends, and Killian wouldn't have let her hide Henry away in any case. For all that, she had balked at the idea of Henry catching even a glimpse of the physical side of her relationship, and so she'd avoided having much of one. She was beginning to think that was a stupid decision. Henry wasn't a fool, and the gossips of Storybrooke weren't terribly circumspect. He had to have heard the speculation, and he didn't seem upset about it, and the two of them going on that first (terrible) date had been his idea in the first place.

The more she considered her son, the more she knew she'd been using Henry as a shield to protect herself, not him.

As Killian's hands buried themselves in her hair and Emma's breath came short, her body informed her without ambiguity that, ready or not, it would go on strike if she didn't move this relationship _forward_.

The sound of the kitchen's back door slamming open and then closed acted on the pair in the diner like a bucket of cold water, and they broke apart as though the other's skin had become suddenly electrified.

They turned to find Bart's bulk leaning against the door between the kitchen and the diner, glaring at the pair of them narrowly.

"I can't imagine how you could possibly have worse timing, Mate," Killian said, sounding resigned.

Emma turned to look at him, seeing what Bart must: his hair was standing on end from her running her fingers through it, his eyes were visibly darkened, and his lips were bright red and glossy-looking. If she looked even half as disheveled, there was no hiding what the pair of them had been getting up to.

Typically, Bart said nothing, only grunted and vanished back into the kitchen where he started slamming cookware around.

Killian took a deep breath before turning to look at her, and once he did, a small, smug smile tugged on the edge of his mouth.

"You might want to go into the restroom and straighten up a bit," he said, gesturing toward the back of the diner. "I'll fix you a cup of coffee."

"You should maybe check a mirror yourself, Jones," Emma said with a smirk, drawing her eyes over him boldly.

Killian cursed under his breath and it what seemed like less than a heartbeat, he'd taken two swift steps to her, cradled her face in his hands, and was kissing her again, hot and sweet and potent as a rum toddy.

"If you don't get out of my diner for five minutes, Swan," he muttered against her lips, "I can't be held responsible for what I do, and I don't think Bart or the health inspector would be terribly impressed. Go."

Emma went, unable to repress the satisfaction at the idea that she had Killian as worked up as he had her. When she met her own eyes in the mirror in the ladies' room, she couldn't help but laugh. If the health inspector had walked in and seen the pair of them looking like that, he wouldn't have believed for an instant that they hadn't sullied the diner.

She splashed cool water on her face and combed her fingers through her hair in an attempt to calm it and, five minutes later, once her breathing had returned to normal, she returned to the diner and Killian, who appeared to have decided that the counter would make an effective shield.

"Where's Henry this morning?" Killian asked, sliding her coffee over to her.

Emma smiled into her cup. Not just the counter then, but Henry could stand between them as well.

She gestured out the front window, from which Killian had pulled the blinds. "He stayed over with Gracie last night. I'm meeting Jeff here for breakfast to get him back."

"And here was me thinking it was either the appeal of my menu or my person which compelled you to my door this morning. Were they at least what brought you here so early?"

Emma shrugged. "I wanted to tell you about Mary Margaret and David before anyone else did. Your bonnie blue eyes were a distant second."

"My ego may never recover," he said, covering his heart and sighing dramatically.

"Your ego can probably take it."

"Shows what you know," Killian said, winking at her. "I'm a delicate flower, just ask anyone."

"Is the 'delicate flower' planning on opening any time today?"

Emma and Killian turned to find Ned and Jim standing in the doorway to the kitchen, watching them.

Jim Hawkins was a slim, delicate-looking boy; pretty-faced, and tow-headed who seemed to have a perpetual pout on his pink mouth. Ned Land was taller and stockier, with dark hair and eyes, and a serious-looking face, though Emma had discovered a deep vein of dry humor since they'd begun to get to know each other.

Killian glanced up at the clock. "You're late lads," he said without heat.

"Word on the street was that you had company, and we hated to interrupt," Jim said with a smirk.

"What word?" Killian asked, sounding annoyed. "What bloody street? It's been ten minutes!"

"It's Storybrooke," Ned said, face bland and eyes sparkling. "The gossip comes through osmosis."

"It's in the water when you're brushing your teeth every morning," Emma added with a grin.

Killian sighed. "I'm moving."

Emma laughed. "No you're not."

"No I'm not. Alright then lads, we're open for business, time to get to work. Ned, if you'll turn over the sign and see if Bart has any dishes he needs washed. Jim, please show Ms. Swan here to her seat and be sure her coffee is refreshed. She'll be a party of four before much longer. Bart!" he called back into the kitchen. "The Madigans will be coming in shortly, if you could get their usual started!"

"Aye-aye, Cap'n," Jim said, smirking, and gestured Emma dramatically toward the four-top by the door. "Finest seat in the house for the Lady of the Jolly Roger."

"You watch too many Errol Flynn movies," Emma told him as she took her seat.

"They were doing a marathon at the movie store last weekend. Ned and I went, and then we watched the Mythbuster episode where they test all those stunts."

"And what's the verdict?"

"Errol Flynn got to be way more impressive than a real pirate 'cause he had a stunt double."

"Maybe," Emma said with a shrug, "but health and safety standards were pretty low on films in those days, you know?"

"Yeah, but I feel like I've read somewhere that Errol Flynn was pretty low-energy and did actually let his stunt double do most of the work."

"Hawkins!" Killian's voice made both Jim and Emma jump. "Haven't you got work to do?"

"I see how it is," Jim complained as he went to get the coffee carafe from Killian. "You're the only one allowed to be distracted by Emma?"

Emma caught a brief flash of Killian's eyes as he glanced at her and then away.

"Swan can distract anyone she likes, but not when I'm paying them to work for me."

The bell over the door jingled to announce the entrance of the day's first real customers, and Jim seated them, muttering under his breath as Killian returned to his work, and Emma settled back to watch the waking town out the front window.

Storybrooke was too small to have much rental property, save downtown, where the storefronts had all been built with apartments over them, with the idea that the owners would live where they worked. Some, like Killian and Jeff, did so, but most rented the space out for a bit of extra money.

On one end of the square, across from the Jolly, was the ice cream parlour, run by Ingrid and her niece Anna. Over top, in a loft apartment decorated in pastels and old-fashioned lace, lived Mary Margaret. Her sheer curtains were drawn, in spite of the fact that she had been up at 4 to tell Emma, Ruby, and Belle about David's proposal.

The realization of what was probably going on behind those drawn curtains made Emma blush and look quickly away. Thinking of David and Mary Margaret like that was like thinking of her parents. Honestly, Emma thought it would be _less_ uncomfortable to imagine Regina having sex than those two.

She moved on, idly cataloguing the stores as she stared out the window. Next to Ingrid was the jewelry store, run by a girl, not much older than Emma herself named Lilly. George was currently passing the bakery on his way to his own grocery store. There was the florist, the butcher, a bookstore, and, as her eyes fell on it, her son walking out the front door of the antique store.

Just seeing him made her smile. His hair hadn't been combed and he was wearing the same grubby t-shirt she'd dropped him off in, rather than the change of clothes she'd packed for him. As soon as she got him home, she'd have to bully him into the bath and make him change his underpants, and he'd surely not brushed his teeth, but he was the dearest, most beautiful thing in the world to her at that moment.

Jeff and Grace followed, and Emma was amused to see them all stop by the Bug and look surprised for a moment before entering the diner.

"Mom!" Henry cried, once inside. "You're really early!"

"Nice to see you too, Kid," Emma said, standing and giving him a hug and a kiss on the top of his head.

He squirmed out of her arms and glared up at her. "It's Saturday," he accused. "You always sleep in on Saturdays."

"I got a pretty cool call this morning and I thought you might be interested in the news I'd heard, but if you'd rather I went home and went back to bed-" Emma moved as though to leave until Henry grabbed her hand.

"What news?" he asked, clinging.

Emma considered stringing him along for another few minutes, but discarded it with one look into his earnest brown eyes.

"David asked Mary Margaret to marry him."

Henry let out a loud whoop that turned every head in the diner toward them at the same time that Grace gave a sighing "awww," and Jefferson laughed.

"Who won the pool then, Jones?" Jeff asked, catching Killian's eye.

Killian grunted. "Not sure, Leroy keeps it. I've been knocked out for weeks, the coward took forever to actually ask. If I were to guess, it's one of the Lucas women."

"Yeah, I figured he'd take even longer so I know it's not me, and the Sheriff has been out just a bit less than you have."

"We're romantic souls, Humbert and I. Comes from the old country."

Emma snorted, but the two kids were crowding her, asking questions.

"When is the wedding?" Henry asked.

"What kind of dress is she going to wear?" Grace asked from her other side.

"Am I invited?"

"Are you going to be part of it?"

"Will there be cake?"

"Will there be dancing?"

Emma held up her hands in surrender at the two kids. "Hold up, hold up! One at a time. Let me see… The wedding is in December, just before Christmas, or at least that's the plan now. She doesn't know what kind of dress she's wearing yet, this is all brand new. Yes, I'm sure you'll both be invited. I am going to be a part of it, Mary Margaret asked me this morning, there will definitely be cake, and there will definitely be dancing."

"Is Mary Margaret making the cake?" Grace asked, eyes wide and greedy.

"I doubt it. She'll be too busy being the bride to also be the caterer, I think."

Grace's face fell. "It won't be nearly as good if she doesn't make it."

Emma laughed at that. She considered telling Henry that David wanted him as a groomsman, but decided to let David himself share that news.

"You two sit down and order your breakfasts when Jim comes over, okay. I've got to check on something with Jeff."

The kids had turned to each other to continue talking about the wedding and mostly ignored these instructions, but no one in the diner would let them get in trouble, so Emma didn't mind turning her back on them. Jeff was still at the counter talking to Killian, but agreed readily when Emma pulled him aside to "ask him something."

"What's up, Em?" Jeff asked, once they were tucked into a corner of the diner, mostly out of the way of listening ears.

"Look, this is kind of a weird question but… well… you and Ruby used to…" she hesitated, not sure exactly how to phrase this, "date," she concluded lamely.

"Ruby and I never dated," Jeff said, and if Emma didn't know better, she'd think he was beginning to smile.

"No, but you two did… I mean you…"

"Hooked up?" Jeff asked, and he was definitely smiling now. "Slept together? Had sex on the regular?"

"Yeah that. Just… tell me how you did it."

Jeff's eyebrows shot up. "Well, Emma… given Henry's existence, I can only imagine that you know the basics, but Ruby was always creative and-"

"Gross, shut up. Not what I was asking."

"Why don't you just say what you want to know. You're not usually this _delicate_."

Emma could feel her face flaming and glanced away. He was right- she wasn't usually shy about sex in general, but that was only when other people were having it. Now that it was her (potential) sex life in question, it felt weirder to gossip about over coffee.

She'd gotten herself into this mess, however, so there was nothing to do but push forward.

"How do you manage to both have a ten-year-old and get laid?" she asked, sure that her face would catch fire from her blush.

"Wouldn't know," Jeff said, leaning casually against the wall and obviously enjoying her discomfort. "Haven't managed it since Gracie turned ten, after all."

"Jeff," Emma sighed, exasperated, and he chucked.

His eyes flicked up to Killian, standing at the counter, and then back down to Emma. "So you're telling me that you two haven't..." he trailed off insinuatingly.

"No," she snapped.

"Because of Henry?" Jeff asked, sounding unconvinced.

"Well… he's at least part of it. How did you and Ruby manage it anyway?"

Jeff shrugged. "We started when Gracie was at summer camp, so it didn't matter. Then, after that… It was the occasional lunch time or night when she was sleeping over at a friend's house. But it was different for us. Ruby and I talked from the beginning- I wasn't looking for a mom for Grace, and Ruby didn't want to be one anyway. If Grace even knows about it, she's never said anything, that's how casual it was. It's not gonna work the same way for you and Killian."

Emma sighed. "I know. You're right. I have no idea what I'm going to do."

Jeff shook his head. "You're overthinking it, Em. Henry loves Killian."

"Yeah, but-"

"No buts! Henry loves Killian and is just going to be happy to have him around more. The idea of Kil being around to make him breakfast is going to thrill him, and he's never even going to think about what you two are doing in your bedroom. Well… assuming you can be discreet." He grinned at this last.

Emma didn't smile back. Her mouth was turned down and her eyebrows were drawn together.

"What if something happens though?" she asked. "It's a pretty picture- Kil making breakfast- but what if it doesn't last?"

Jeff reached out and laid a hand on her arm. "Are you worried about what'll happen to Henry, or what'll happen to you?"

Emma opened her mouth to answer, then closed it without saying anything.

"I can't tell you anything, I haven't taken a risk like that since Alice died. I've been too scared, just like you're saying. But it's either take the risk, or give up, 'cause if that make-out session here in the diner this morning was any indication, one or both of you is going to combust if you don't get laid."

Emma's eyes went wide. "You saw us?" she asked, her voice so high it might have shattered glass if it were any louder.

"My windows look right into here," Jeff said with a gesture at the big front windows. "I happened to look out and…"

"Apparently I don't need to get laid, I'll just die of mortification right here."

Jeff laughed again. "You two are cute together, you know that?"

Emma just snorted.

"You are though. I understand why you're worried, honestly I do, but if it helps at all, my money is on nothing happening between you two."

She glanced up at him and gave him a half-smile. "What odds did you get on that one?"

He shrugged. "Pretty good, actually. Except for a couple of assholes, I'm pretty sure the town is on your side."

"Daaaaad!"

Both Jeff and Emma jumped as Grace yelled at them from across the diner.

"Are you two going to come eat breakfast or not?" Grace whined.

~?~?~?~?~

Killian liked to watch Emma sometimes. From the first moment he'd seen her, almost a dozen years ago, he'd liked the looks of her.

As a young man he'd recognized (as he had in Milah) the horizon in her eyes which had beckoned to the sea in his blood. What he hadn't realized then was that Milah had been chasing the horizon, while Emma had been being chased.

He'd only recently acknowledged that he'd been running as well.

He wondered sometimes, watching her laugh with Jeff and talk to her son, what might have been. What could have changed if he'd met her just a few months before. Before she and Cassidy had made Henry. Before he'd met Milah.

Would things have been different for them? Would she have been able to open herself to him if Liam and Granny and Mary Margaret and the entire town hadn't helped crack that armour of hers? Would he have left Liam if he'd know then how she kissed? Would Liam have died?

It didn't do to dwell, of course, but sometimes, as he watched the pair of Swans together, he wished it had been just a few months earlier.

Jeff and his Grace left Emma and Henry at the table and approached the counter together. As the wee lass talked her father's ear off in a froth of sugar and excitement and he paid their bill, Killian saw Emma lean down and say something to Henry. He might not have noticed, but as she spoke to her son, her green eyes flashed toward him three times, and her color appeared high. Henry also glanced at him before answering, and something the lad said made the pair of them grin at each other, then glance up at Killian again, then start giggling.

"There's trouble."

Killian shook his head to clear his distraction and met Jeff's eyes as the other man gave him a grin.

"Pardon?"

Jeff glanced back at Emma and Henry, then cocked his brow at Killian.

"Ah. Well yes, they are trouble, but I don't really mind it, in the end."

"'Trouble's just the bits in between?'" Jeff quoted.

"When did you take to watching Doctor Who?"

Jeff shook his head and sighed. "You introduced Henry to it who introduced Gracie who-"

"I'm gonna be Amy when I grow up!" Grace inserted. "Or maybe Clara- a teacher during the week and riding around in the TARDIS on weekends!"

"Seems a good division of time." Killian was a few seasons behind and so was not sure who Grace was talking about, but was pleased to know that good British television was making it through to young Americans.

"I'm never forgiving you for that, by the way," Jeff said, not quite managing to affect a glare.

"What's that? Teaching you Yanks what proper telly is supposed to be like?" Killian grinned. "Go on, get out of here Madigan. Your lass' piano lesson begins soon and Roger won't like to be kept waiting, aye?"

For a moment, Jeff looked like he was going to say something else, but it passed and he instead allowed his daughter to drag him out of the diner, chattering and laughing.

Emma and Henry's plates had been cleared, but the pair of them didn't look like they were making a move to leave. Emma took a sip from her coffee cup which appeared to be nearly empty, and shot a quick glance at him.

Five years as her friend, and he could read that expression like it was printed across her forehead. It said "bring me more coffee."

There was another light- a new one- in the old expression these days. "Bring me more coffee because I want you nearby," he interpreted.

He was a magnet, and she was true north, and he couldn't stay away. He picked up his flask of tea and a carafe of coffee and joined the Swans at their table, refilling Emma's cup and setting the rest of the coffee between them as he sat.

"Thanks Kil," Emma said quietly and began to work on doctoring the drink with milk and sugar, giving the process more attention than it deserved.

This behaviour might have been unremarkable, save that Henry was practically bouncing in his seat, and looking between the pair of adults like he was at a tennis match.

"Mom!" Henry whispered, sounding impatient. "Come on!"

Emma looked up and shot her son a glare, which quieted him, but didn't make him sit still.

She took a deep breath and seemed to be having a lot of trouble looking at Killian. His stomach flipped over several times, no idea what was going on. It was almost as though she were about to break up with him- that or propose to him, and he had a hard time imagining either at this point.

"Are you doing anything tonight, Jones? Like… do you have plans or anything? It's okay if you do."

He heard Henry sigh, but didn't look away from Emma. "No," he said with a shrug. "No plans." He considered adding something about the lass he was seeing, but given the presence of her son, he decided against it.

"I told you he wouldn't, Mom," Henry said.

"Hush, Henry," she muttered, not looking at him. She took another deep breath. "That's good, Killian. I'm glad you don't have plans-" she didn't sound it "-because I wanted to invite you to… see it's a thing we do sometimes and… well you don't have to. It might not really be your scene but…"

"Mom and I are having a movie night!" Henry burst out. "And we want you to come. We're watching Indiana Jones!"

"We?" Killian asked, glancing up at Emma. "You mean all three of us?"

He knew Henry wasn't unaware of his relationship with Emma, and yet for all the lad had seen them together, he might as well not know. The idea of the three of them doing something together was a bit like hitting an unexpected swell in his boat- equal parts thrilling and terrifying.

"Yeah," Emma said quietly. "It's kind of a… a family thing we do."

She could have told him they were walking on hot coals and he'd have done it with that incentive.

"Aye," he said, his voice having gone just slightly hoarse. He cleared the mysterious blockage from his throat and tried again. "Aye, I think it sounds a brilliant idea."

"Awesome!" Henry shouted, leaping up from his seat and throwing his arms around Killian. "It's gonna be so cool. We're gonna eat candy and drink sodas and have pizza and watch the movies-"

"Movies?" Killian asked, suddenly shocked. "As in 'more than one'? And candy and pizza?"

Emma grinned at his discomfiture, hers having suddenly vanished. "Oh yes. Nothing healthy allowed at family movie night. And we're watching all of the Indiana Jones movies."

" _Temple of Doom_ is my favorite," Henry said, tugging on Killian's arm in his excitement. "Doctah Jones-"

"Don't impersonate that character!" Emma interrupted.

Henry shrugged this off and continued, still moving a mile-a-minute.

"Can you actually replace something so quickly that a sensor can't feel it? I mean I know he doesn't actually do it in the movie but-"

"Slow down, lad," Killian said, laughing in spite of his slight horror at the Swans' idea of a proper night in.

"Which one's your favorite, Killian?" Henry asked.

"I'm a traditionalist. My favorite is _Raiders_ ," he said with a shrug.

The two men turned their eyes to Emma who grinned. "Harrison Ford in his prime and Sean Connery before he got too saggy? It's got to be _Crusade_ for me. So that's all of them. Everyone'll have their favorite."

"What about-" Killian began.

"That's all three Indiana Jones movies," Emma interrupted pointedly.

"No it isn't, Mom. You remember- we went and saw-"

"Do hush, Kid. Come on, we've got to get to the grocery store, and you're going to have to take a bath before Kil comes over tonight." She turned to Killian. "Seven o'clock. Don't be late."

"Right, because I wouldn't want to miss the beginning of the junk food fest."

"Also we're starting with your favorite and you don't want to miss that."

"Swan, are you sure junk food and late night movies are good for a lad?" he asked, sounding worried. "I don't mean to question…"

"It's the last weekend before school starts. He gets one last weekend of nothing but fun and no structure at all, and then it's back to school. Before much longer he'll be doing college prep and studying for the SATs or working summers, and I don't want to miss out on the time I get with him now, right?"

Killian nodded. "Right." He grabbed her hand and squeezed. "Nothing healthy at all?"

She grinned as she dropped money on the table and allowed Henry to pull her toward the door. "We'll order one pizza with veggies on it for you."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***nonchalant whistling***

The motorcycle carrying the nazi flipped dramatically and exploded, the Jeep carrying Indiana and his father pulled away, and the shoulder that Emma had been leaning against for the last 15 minutes shifted as Killian sighed.

She pulled her head back to look at him and found that he wasn't watching the film, his dark lashes were low over his eyes.

She nudged him gently with her elbow. "Have you fallen asleep on me too?" she asked, keeping her voice low enough that, if he _was_ asleep, he would hopefully remain so.

His lashes rose, displaying those clear blue eyes, unfogged by sleep, and he grinned at her.

"Not a bit of it. Just thinking I wanted some water and wondering if moving would wake him."

_The Last Crusade_ hadn't been on for more than 15 minutes when Henry had fallen asleep with his head in Killian's lap. A wide patch of wet on the dark fabric of his jeans showed that Henry had been drooling, but Killian hadn't moved him.

Emma reached over and ruffled her son's hair. He didn't so much as twitch.

"He's out cold. You could let off a bomb in here and he wouldn't wake up," she said, disentangling herself from Killian, standing, and offering him a hand up.

In spite of her warning, he still shifted Henry as gently as if he were made of glass before taking her hand and pulling himself up, using his greater weight to pull her against him for a moment and kiss her briefly as he did.

"Thanks," he muttered, not letting her go and nuzzling into her hair, and Emma sighed and allowed herself to melt into him.

From the moment he'd arrived at their door, ice cream and cookies in tow, Emma had reached for him. For the first time since the night in June at Robin's pub, she'd let her guard down and allowed herself to touch him as she'd always imagined she could do, but had avoided, believing she was shielding her son from something.

Killian had responded in kind, brushing soft kisses on her cheeks, into her hair, and on her knuckles.

Henry had seemed not to notice, or if he did, not to mind. On the one occasion Emma had caught him watching the pair of them, he'd been smiling.

"All I did was help you out of the couch," she said, leaning back and grinning up at him. "Your leg must be nearly asleep. The only reason he likes _Temple_ best is that he's never managed to stay awake to see the perfection that is _Crusade_."

Killian grinned back at her, but his eyes remained warm and soft, and when he spoke, his voice was low and sweet. "Not for that. For tonight. For… for sharing him with me."

Something inside Emma went liquid and warm at that, and she buried her face in his shoulder, arms around his waist and hugging him to her as she tried to repress the emotions welling up inside of her that she wasn't quite ready to acknowledge.

"Not like I could hide him from you," she muttered into his shirt.

"No," he murmured into her hair. "But you could hide me from him."

Emma leaned back away from his shoulder, and frowned up at him, confused. "You see him more than you see me. How is that hiding you from him?"

Killian shifted awkwardly, putting an inch of distance between the pair of them, and reached up to scratch behind his right ear. "Well not _me_ ," he said, not meeting her eyes. "More like… _us_. Our relationship."

Emma stepped back herself, even more confused and just a bit offended. "In case you've forgotten, our relationship was as much Henry's idea as mine," she said.

The sharpness in her voice made Killian wince and glance down at the sleeping child on the sofa.

"Come on," he muttered, grabbing her hand and pulling her into the kitchen. Once they reached the quieter space, he dropped her hand, but didn't immediately turn to face her. Instead he stood, back to her, and took a long breath. Finally he turned to face her, blue eyes soulful.

"Look," he said with a sigh, "it's just that Henry _does_ know, doesn't he? Like you say, it was his idea in the beginning, and he's not stupid. He must have heard the gossip so… so why have we been working so hard to keep it quiet? To keep it away from him? Like you're already preparing for the worst or… or like you're ashamed of me."

His words acted on her like a gunshot. "No!" she cried, too loud given the proximity of a sleeping child. "I'm not ashamed of you. I couldn't be! It's just… he's only eleven. He knows of course but he doesn't really _know_ , you know?" She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Killian. I just… I guess I just thought I was being discreet."

She tried to turn away, but Killian's hand on her arm stopped her.

"I know, Love," he said, softly, drawing her gently toward him, his voice full of remorse. "I know, and I'm sorry. I honestly didn't… I didn't even realize it'd been niggling at me until I said it. I know it's stupid.

She relaxed a little as he pressed her against him, finding warmth and safety in his arms. "What could I possibly be ashamed of?" she asked quietly.

He chuckled low into her hair. "You, Emma Swan, can do anything. You take care of Henry, and Mary Margaret and the Inn and this town all the bloody time. Then there's me who's making a hash of even taking care of myself. I keep thinking one of these days you're going to wake up and realize you can do better."

Emma stared into his face, searching for any hint of teasing or laughter, but there was none. She forgot, sometimes, that she wasn't the only orphan in Storybrooke, and where she had her own armour- Henry, her red leather jacket, and her tendency to keep all but the most tenacious at arm's length- Killian's sarcastic quips and confident swagger masked just as many insecurities.

"I'm not ashamed of you," she whispered, leaning forward so her lips brushed his. "I couldn't be."

It was nearly midnight, and they'd both been up early, so the kiss was slow and sleepy, tasting of Coke and pizza and Red Vines.

In the morning, their kiss had caught like a match tossed into ethanol- it had burned fast and hot and bright. That night their kisses were a slower, warmer thing, coals lit from hours and hours of innocent touches and mere proximity. After a moment, however, Killian caught Emma's lower lip between his and drew his tongue across it, and the flame caught. Emma opened to him and suddenly even the hint of sleepiness was gone, replaced with lust.

One of his hands was at her waist, pulling her against him, moving down to rest just at the top curve of her bottom. Her hand on his bicep could feel the steel muscle beneath cotton and skin that kept her hips pressed against his. His other hand was on her neck beneath her hair, cradling the base of her skull. Emma's other hand traveled down his back, tucking into the back pocket of his jeans and squeezing.

He growled at this and Emma found herself pressed up against her kitchen counter, her mouth assaulted with such sweet finesse that she let out a whimper of terrible need.

Something about that noise seemed to shock them both into remembering where they were, and the sleeping child in the next room, and they tore their mouths away from each other, gasping.

Emma glanced in the direction of the living room, though she knew that Henry couldn't possibly have heard her over the sound of the movie. Her son hadn't moved, so she turned back to the immediacy of the disheveled and lust-drunk man still pressed against her, his forehead pressed to her temple, his eyes closed.

"I should go," he murmured, his voice low and rough.

"Don't," she said, barely above a whisper.

He sighed and kissed her temple. "If I don't go now," he murmured into her hair, "I don't think I'll be able to make myself go later."

"I know," she murmured, not quite able to look at him. "I don't want you to go. I want you to stay. We can put Henry to bed and then we can go… go to bed."

That seemed to stop him short- he went still in her arms, almost as though he'd stopped so much as breathing- then slow as inevitability, he shifted slightly away from her and stared into her eyes.

"I mean… I mean if you want," Emma said, not sure how to read the expression in his eyes.

"If I want?" he asked, sounding shocked. "Gods, Love… but are _you_ sure it's what _you_ want?"

She'd never really understood what it was about Killian Jones that turned her insides to melted wax, but she thought it might be this: that he always, _always_ , gave her the power of their relationship. They'd never taken a step that she hadn't initiated, and he always checked that she was sure.

Well, she was sure now.

"Of course it's what I want," she said, able to feel the smile growing across her face and seeing it mirrored on his. "Shouldn't it be? Don't tell me you snore."

That clinched it. Killian grinned sweet and wide, the kind of grin that crinkled the skin around his eyes and looked like it might wrap around the back again. He leaned down and kissed the smile that Emma couldn't seem to help but wear right back.

"I wouldn't know, Love, you'll have to tell me. Come on then, let's put your wee lad to bed."

For several minutes, under their talk and the sound of Indiana Jones and his adventures in the next room, there had been a growing growl that finally forced itself into their conscious attention at that moment by becoming a roar right at the front of Emma's house.

"What the hell?" Emma muttered, disentangling herself from Killian and hustling out of the kitchen, with him at on her heels.

Henry appeared undisturbed as they passed him on their way to the front door, though once they'd gone through it Emma shut it behind them to be sure it remained the case and turned to find a motorcycle sitting, not in the drive or on the street, but in the middle of her front lawn and someone tall and dressed in leather and a face-covering motorcycle mask bounding up to the porch. He reached the top and wrapped Emma up in a great bear hug and spun her around without so much as a word.

"What the hell?" Emma half-shrieked.

"Oi!" Killian cried.

The man set Emma back on her feet and pushed the visor of his helmet up to reveal a crooked grin and Henry's eyes.

"Hey Em," Neal said, "figured you'd still be awake, but I didn't expect you to have company. Seems a little late for burgers and coffee, isn't it? Has the diner started delivering?"

Emma shoved Neal away and stepped beside Killian, crossing her arms across her chest and glaring.

"Unlike some people, Killian was _invited_ over for Henry's and my movie night."

"That right?" Neal's left eyebrow arched in surprise. "I thought the rule on those was family only."

"What are you doing here, Neal? And since when do you drive a motorcycle?"

He grinned again. "You like it? Brand new, this is its first big trip. Pretty great, right? Anyway, when Henry and I talked this week he said he's heading back to school on Monday, and I thought I'd bring the bike up to come see my son his last weekend of freedom."

"Without bothering to ask," Emma said. It was not a question.

"If he was with Regina I'd have gone out to Misthaven," Neal said with a shrug, obviously unperturbed by Emma's obvious annoyance. "I'm glad he's here though. You're a lot nicer about letting me crash."

"Woah! Who said anything about you crashing here?" Emma asked, her arms finally uncrossing so she could hold up her hands to him.

"Oh come on, Ems! You wouldn't leave me out in the cold, would you? At this hour? And I don't even have a car to sleep in!"

Emma glared. "You're too damned old for those puppy-dog eyes to work for you, Neal," she said, even though she was lying.

"Ask Henry," Neal said, pulling his trump card. "You know he'd want you to let me stay."

"The lad's asleep," Killian said, his low voice icy.

Neal looked at Killian and his smile went similarly cold. "So Emma or I can wake him up. _My son_ doesn't have school in the morning, after all." He turned to look at Emma again. "It's late, Ems. Why don't you two say your goodnights and we can talk about this inside, what do you say?"

Emma closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath through her nose, then opened them again.

"Go inside, Neal," she said through clenched teeth. "We'll talk about this in a minute, but don't you dare wake up Henry."

Neal grinned. "Thanks Ems. I knew you'd have my back."

The moment he vanished into the house, Emma's spine seemed to lose all of its starch and she slumped back against the wall of her house.

"Damn, damn, damn," she muttered, thumping the back of her head against the wood with every word.

"Do you want me to go in there and remove him bodily?" Killian asked.

She smiled slightly even as she shook her head, still resting against the side of the house.

"No," she said on a sigh, opening her eyes and looking at him finally. "The idiot is right, Henry'd want him to be here. If I threw him out before they could talk he'd never forgive me."

"He'd forgive you. You're his mum."

"Then he'd never forgive _you_."

Killian shook his head. "Less important, that. So Cassidy is staying the night?"

Emma sighed again. "I can't really think of a good way to get rid of him."

"Right. And me?"

Her eyes found his and her face fell. "Oh Kil… I'm so sorry-"

"No, it's fine. I figured as much. Just thought I'd… check."

"I've got to deal with this," she said, still sounding apologetic.

"I know, Love. I get it. This is your life, it all comes with the package."

She sighed and swayed toward him as he laid a warm hand on her arm.

"Yeah, it is, but there's no way you signed up for this."

"I did, actually," he said, looping his arms loosely around her waist. "Read the fine print and everything- it said stuff about exes and messy families and complicated friends."

She smiled tiredly. "Okay, so you signed up. You might be regretting it though. Buyer's remorse?"

"Not a bit of it," he said, lowering his head to brush her nose with his. "It's all worth it because I-"

"Dad!"

Henry's shrill treble was loud enough that it made them both jump, even through the closed door.

"Shit," Emma said, pulling away from him. "I told him not to wake Henry!" She reached for the door, then turned to look at Killian again. "I'm sorry Kil, I-"

"Go on, Swan. I'll see you around, aye?"

Emma opened her mouth to wish him goodnight, but was distracted when another high giggle came through the door, and turned to hurry in, kicking it shut behind her.

~?~?~?~?~

Killian stood on the front porch for a long moment after Emma vanished. He could hear the murmur of voices through the door- Henry's high and fast, Emma's lower and more modulated, the ends of sentences clipped in anger, and Cassidy's lowest of all, but bouncing up and down the register in an oddly wheedling sound that boiled Killian's blood.

Even as his hands clenched into fists and he stopped himself going inside and removing the other man from Emma's house, then sending the lad to sleep and finally, _finally_ , taking Emma to bed, an odd, disinterested portion of Killian's brain was thinking that the amount of noise he could hear through her doors and walls couldn't be good- he should look into sealing and insulating them for her before the bitter Maine winter.

He sighed, shoved his fists into his pockets and slowly walked off the porch. As he passed Cassidy's bike, Killian restrained himself from kicking it, berating himself the whole way for being childish.

It was easier, he decided, than berating himself for being a soppy, lovesick fool. He'd given David a hard time for weeks about carrying that damned ring around for Mary Margaret, but was he any better? He didn't have a ring (he could only imagine Emma's response if he offered her one- it was terrifying to contemplate) but those three words had been weighing on his tongue like custard for nearly as long, practically since he'd found out what her kiss tasted like.

Killian climbed into his truck, wishing he hadn't brought it- he could use the air of a walk. As he started the old thing, he glared at the glowing windows of Emma's house, behind which another man was spending the night with his…

And what were they, really? Henry wasn't his son. Emma wasn't his wife. Not his lover. His girlfriend? They'd never really discussed it. Never put a name to it. He hadn't minded when whatever it was had been known to the whole town by way of that inimitable gossip grapevine of Storybrooke, but suddenly someone from the outside was there and Killian wanted to know. He wanted something that was solid. Something he could cling to to reassure himself that Emma was- so much as she was anyone's but Henry and herself- his.

He sighed and called himself twelve kinds of fool, and drove away.

~?~?~?~?~

Emma shut the door to Henry's room behind her with a sigh. It had taken nearly an an hour and a half to stop him bouncing off the walls after his father had woken him and to get him to go back to sleep. She'd wanted to call Killian- she felt weird about where they'd left things- but it was too late now. He'd surely already gone to bed.

In the living room, Neal was lounging on the couch, sock feet up on the coffee table between Henry's half-drunk can of Coke and the package of Red Vines, one of the pizza boxes in his lap and a beer (one of the beers she'd picked up specifically for Killian) in hand.

"Get your feet off my furniture, Cassidy," she said, annoyed. "And I'm not sure who gave you permission to raid the fridge, but that beer wasn't up for grabs."

"Come on, Emma, you told me to make myself at home."

" _Henry_ told you to make yourself at home. I'd be as happy if you set up a tent in the backyard and roasted hotdogs over a propane lantern."

"It's Henry's house too, and if you're allowed to invite folks to family movie night, figure he is too, right?" He gestured with the beer bottle to the couch cushions beside him. "C'mon Ems, we can finish up _The Last Crusade_ if you want?"

"I've seen it."

"There's bell pepper and mushroom on this pizza," Neal said, pulling out a slice and taking a bite. "Thought the rule was that no vegetables were allowed at family movie night, and you don't even like mushrooms."

"Killian and Henry do."

Neal gave her a nasty smile. "So the boyfriend gets his own pizza. This isn't your brand of beer, so he gets some of that too? You've become the cozy little family, haven't you?"

Emma sighed and shook her head. "Are you really going to do this? Do you think you're the only one who gets to move on?"

"This isn't about you having a boyfriend, Em. It's about Henry and what he sees. He was going to stay over tonight, wasn't he?"

Emma shut her eyes for a moment, gathering herself to keep from screaming at him. "Yeah," she said, without opening them.

"So you two just… whatever with Henry home? Jesus, Em, what can the kid be thinking about you? You're his _mom_. He doesn't need people talking about who his mom is screwing, and Storybrooke doesn't exactly seem like the most circumspect place."

"It's not. Whatever he's going to hear, he's heard it already, true or not. You weren't nearly so high-and-mighty about it when it was you."

"We're his parents. It's different."

"You were actively cheating on your fiance, I'm pretty sure whatever morality is gained by sharing chromosomes is lost again by that. Besides, Killian is one of Henry's best friends."

"Oh sure, that makes it so much better. People talking about how his mom is shacking up with one of his friends? That's guaranteed to screw a kid up."

"You make it sound so sordid. Single parents date all the time. Even ones who live in small towns- the Lifetime channel makes a killing on exactly that concept."

"The Lifetime channel is _fiction_ , Emma," Neal said as though she were five. "What are you going to tell Henry when it's over then? If he's so tight with your boy toy, how's he going to feel when it ends?"

Emma froze. She'd twisted herself into knots for weeks about what would happen with her and with Henry if things went pear-shaped with Killian, but it wasn't until she heard the words come out of someone else's mouth that the truth hit her.

"Who says it'll end?" she asked.

"I know you, Em. You're a runner. You honestly think this is the guy who's going to get you to stay? This is the guy who's gonna be forever? You can't expect me to believe you're in love with him- he's just some jerk with a diner."

Emma opened her mouth to tell him that yes, that was exactly what she expected him to believe, but stopped herself. That was a confession (was it a confession?) best made to Killian first. Neal didn't deserve it.

She changed tactics in an instant. "He may be some 'jerk with a diner,' but at least he has always been there for _our son_ when you disappeared because it got too hard."

"Emma, I-"

"You gave up the right to tell me how to parent Henry years ago when you told me that you were still going to college, and I couldn't ask you to give up on that to be a dad. Killian and I are careful because neither of us wants to hurt Henry- we _both_ love him like a parent, got it?"

"You're going to hold that mistake against me for the rest of my life?" Neal asked, sounding resigned.

"You're damn right I am. You made your bed, and now you get to sleep on the couch."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Bit of business: this is the chapter where it (finally) gets saucy. If you don't dig saucy, there's a[SFW version](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1zWwvq0VCcwYG5S27tXKObHWb1-9kvn5l9VTU-0n_lXA/edit?usp=sharing) at that link, no harm, no foul.**
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> **This is (obviously) the last chapter for this story in this series. Next week _Where You Lead_ will not update. This is for a couple of reasons: for one, the next story in the series will update daily for an entire week when it goes up, so it will update much faster than usual. That said, it didn't take less time to write than usual, so it will completely decimate my buffer, so I'm taking a bit of time to rebuild that.**
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> **The second reason is because next Wednesday is WhoLockGal's birthday (I can't say which one without risking divorce) and there is a very cool new story written with her in mind that will have a chapter posted on Wednesday, as well as one on my usual update day of Friday. That story will update on Fridays until it is finished posting. If you like the cut of my jib, feel free to keep an eye out for a story titled " _Let's Steal a One-Time Thing_."**
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> **Most importantly, before I go (for those of you not interested in the story I plugged above, it'll be a couple of months), I want to say that you guys are just the best, I love you and love every single comment and kudo that I get on this series. I love you desperately and love how much we all love OUAT. I answer every comment, but sometimes I feel silly saying how happy those comments make me, so I don't do it justice, but those of you who comment on every chapter (AndyPandy, I'm looking at you), even if I don't communicate it well, I consider you a friend. I hope you come back to the series when it comes back, but if not, I've had a fab time with you this far and I hope you've had a fab time with me!**
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> **Anyway, before I get too sappy, Happy Fanfiction Friday, y'all!**

The sign on the front of the Jolly Roger said "Gone Fishing."

It had been months since he'd taken his boat out for a few days, too busy with women and family and the constant chatter of the town, but the weather was meant to be fine all weekend, and Killian thought it best to just leave for the duration. He'd return when Cassidy was gone and his life was his own again. The sea was uncomplicated and comforting, where land was messy and frustrating.

Neglecting his old girl for so long had consequences, however, and since dawn he'd been checking ropes and sails and the state of the small motor that could save him in case of doldrums, and all his fishing equipment. He would shove off the moment he was sure that everything was shipshape.

That's the story he told himself, and would have told anyone who asked in passing (not that anyone did) until the very moment he heard her boot on the boards of his deck.

He'd been waiting for her. Had been since he'd arrived back at his own flat the previous night. He hadn't slept, waiting for her to call and say…

He had no idea what she would say, or what he wanted her to say. She'd let Cassidy stay and had sent him away, and while his brain repeated over and over that it was mad to be upset by that, his heart had not been able to listen.

Finally, at dawn, after tossing and turning, and watching his phone for five hours, he'd decided that he couldn't face her and had fled for the sea.

But he hadn't gone further. He'd hesitated and stalled for hours, waiting, hoping, _trusting_ that she would come. That she would find him.

His back was to her, head bent over a screwdriver and one of his fishing reels that didn't need fixing, but he knew it was her. He couldn't say why, but his every sense assured him, as though he could smell her like a wolf, or hear the way she breathed, or sense her in every hair on his arms like antennae.

"How many bloody times do I have to tell you, Swan? It's bad form to board a ship without getting leave from the captain first."

He'd meant it to be a tease, but it hadn't come out like that. His voice had been too sharp and annoyed, and it had sounded like a true criticism.

He didn't turn, but he did hear her steps stop the moment he spoke. They stilled for a moment and then retreated. Had he truly run her off with one ill-tempered statement, he wondered.

"Ahoy!"

He turned to find her, feet planted firmly on the marina's dock, toes nearly brushing the side of ship she was so close.

"Lieutenant Swan requesting permission to board from Captain Jones."

She pronounced "lieutenant" like he did, not like an American.

He hesitated and she leaned forward on her toes, bouncing nervously.

"Please, Kil? I… I just want to talk."

He sighed. It wasn't as though he wasn't going to let her onto the boat. She deserved to have her say, whatever that say was, and he owed it to her to listen.

He had no idea if he was ready to hear it.

Killian waved her up without speaking, and she skipped across the narrow gap between the dock and the deck again, but came no closer. She was wearing her red leather jacket, which meant she was nervous.

"Where's Henry?" he asked after a moment, trying to get the conversational ball rolling.

She closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head. "Neal took him out on the bike. I'm trying not to think about it."

"You let Cassidy take him out on that death trap? Are you crazy?"

Emma shrugged. "Might be, but he has a helmet and Neal promised he'd take it slow. I can't keep him swaddled in cotton forever."

"Might not hurt to at least let him make it to his teenage years."

She ignored this and took a step toward the rail of the boat to look down into the water.

"You know, I haven't been on the Kiss in almost a year. You and Henry keep going out and having adventures, but I don't seem to rate an invitation anymore."

"You did get an invitation, remember? Shortly after Henry's birthday this year, we just got rained out."

"Right," she said, nodding. "Right. You know I've always wondered where you came up with the name for her. True Love's Kiss seems oddly romantic for you."

Killian shrugged. "It was Liam's idea. He was the romantic."

"Right," she said, still not looking at him. "Of course."

It was silent between them for several long moments, no sound but the call of seabirds and the lap of the water against the sides of the ship.

Finally she turned and faced him, her arms wrapped around her waist as though protecting herself from something- from him.

"You're upset with me," she said bluntly.

"No," he said automatically. "I'm not."

She gave him a tense smile. "I don't even need a superpower to know that's a lie, Jones. Please talk to me. Neal showing up couldn't possibly have been more inconvenient but… we both knew it would happen eventually, one way or another. He's Henry's dad, after all."

"And your first love."

She opened her mouth as though to deny this, then closed it and stood for a moment looking at him. She nodded. "Yeah, he was. Past tense."

"But he's the one you let stay last night. I'm the one you sent away."

"Look, I'm sorry Kil, but having Neal sleeping on the couch wasn't exactly calculated to get me 'in the mood,' you know?"

"It's not about sex, Emma! It's about him and you and all your bloody history! He shows up, disrupts your plans, turns your life upside down, ruins your bloody front lawn, and you let him in. Every time you let him in! You let him take your son out on his bloody motorcycle. And then there's me, and I barely get five minutes of your time, and it's either hidden in the bloody closet so no one can see us, or I have to pretend that you're my sister so your son doesn't think… what, Emma? Doesn't think I'm mad about you? Because I am, and he might as well know it! But you're always protecting him- hiding me, hiding _us_. Because you're so sure that we can't make it. That I'll hurt you- that I'll hurt him. What have I said or done that makes you think I would ever _ever_ let you get away? You've told yourself it won't work so often that you're going to make it true."

Killian's voice broke at the end, and he stopped, breathing hard, just staring at her across the deck, still and pale as marble, watching him with those jewel-bright eyes.

"For weeks now I've been afraid- afraid of what's going to happen when things ended between you and me-"

"Emma-"

She held up her hand to stop him. "I know. I was treating it as an inevitability. I was certain it was- not because I don't trust you-" she said this last quickly as he opened his mouth to speak, "-because I do. It was me- I'm a runner, Killian. I always have been. Growing up, every time a group home got violent, or a foster dad got handsy, or things just got too hard, I'd take off. When Neal didn't want Henry, I ran. What's to stop me doing it again? Doing it now?

"Everyone has told me that I won't. Henry, Mary Margaret, Regina, Ruby, David, Jeff…"

"You've talked to everyone in town about this but me, have you?"

"Yeah, and that was pretty stupid. I never said I was good at this, Kil. But everyone said I'd be fine- I wouldn't run, and things wouldn't go bad. They said you loved me."

He went still as stone at that, but she didn't stop.

"I didn't believe them though, because there was still that stubborn voice in the back of my head saying that I've run before, so why wouldn't I run now? What would keep me from being a coward?

"But last night, Neal said it. He said I'd run and for the first time that stubborn voice turned around and said 'no.' He said you couldn't be the guy who made me stay, that you couldn't be forever, that I'm not in love with you. And I realized that he's wrong. He's completely wrong. If no one else in the world could make me stay, you could, I want this to work more than I'm afraid it'll fail, and… and Henry loves you, and so do I."

He didn't know whether she had moved or he had, but somehow over the course of her speech he had come to be beside her, close enough to touch, drawn to her like iron filings to a magnet. He reached out and touched her shoulder gently, drew his fingers down the butter-soft leather of her jacket to where her arm crossed over her stomach, and coaxed her to relax- to let her arm down and allow him to take her hand in his.

"You couldn't just come out and say it, could you? Had to bring Henry into it?"

She looked up at him, but the anxiety in her eyes seemed to melt at the warmth in his.

She smiled. "Baby steps, Jones. I'm still coming to terms with it." She closed her eyes and took a long breath in, then released it slowly and opened her eyes again. "I love you, Killian Jones."

His heart felt like it might catch fire, and he pulled her hand toward him to hold over that fluttering organ, on top of his shirt.

"You know, that wasn't even my favorite part of that little speech of yours, which is saying something because I have to say, I quite like hearing it."

"No?"

He shook his head. "No. My favorite part was where you said that you wanted us to succeed more than you were afraid we would fail. It was very cleverly put. Very articulate."

She narrowed her eyes, "Are you saying I can't be articulate?"

He grinned. "Just that it sounds like maybe you practiced it in the car."

She opened her mouth, then closed it again, smiling. "Shut up, Jones."

He laughed, and she gave a small, emotionally wrought chuckle as well.

"Mary Margaret, and Jeff, and Henry, and David, and Ruby, and apparently Regina, though I've no idea how she'd know were right though," he said, more serious, though the smile hadn't left his face. "I do love you."

He lifted her hand from his chest and kissed her knuckles like she was a lady. Like she was a princess. He watched her eyes as he turned her hand over and kissed the palm, seeing them go wide and feeling her hand flexing slightly as his short beard rasped against her smooth skin. He kissed the inside of her wrist, feeling the butterfly flutter of her pulse against his lips and watched her eyes flutter shut.

"How long is Henry away for then?" he asked, nuzzling into her palm.

Her eyes opened again, slightly hazy. "Neal has him until supper. I… oh… I told him to bring Henry to the Jolly for dinner. I figured that was where I'd be. I can call-"

Killian grabbed the hand that was about to reach into her jeans pocket for her phone with his other hand.

"We'll meet them there," he said, kissing the new set of knuckles. "I'll take the three of you out to dinner at the Inn."

Emma raised an eyebrow at him, the corners of her mouth twitching. "The Inn? Where Henry and I eat free and Granny never charges you full price? Big spender."

"Oi! If I'm forced to entertain Neal Cassidy, I might as well not be charged full price for the privilege. Now," he said, depositing the hands he was holding onto his shoulders to free his up to cup Emma's hips and pull her against him, "since you and I appear to have… what? Four hours? Five? Regardless, a bit of time to kill, and I think neither of us wants to give too much further thought to Henry on a motorcycle-" Emma closed her eyes and gave a small shake of her head at that "-we must find something with which to occupy ourselves. Whatever shall we do?"

He lowered his mouth to hers slowly, giving her every opportunity to step away, to run. She didn't run, just as she'd promised. She leaned into him instead and, without prompting, opened her mouth to his kiss, allowing him to surge forward and plunder her mouth with teeth and tongue.

Her arms were wrapped around his shoulders, one hand at the base of his skull in those short, sensitive hairs on the back of his neck, the other higher up where she could get a proper grip in the longer hair on his crown.

He had one hand planted firmly on her ass, pressing her pelvis against his, making sure she was perfectly aware of exactly what she was doing to him, the other hand was in her hair, worn loose and straight over her shoulders today.

"I take it," Emma said breathlessly as his mouth wandered from hers to explore the sensitive skin underneath her jaw, "that you weren't thinking we'd make that sign on the diner a reality."

He leaned back just a touch to be able to see her face and raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Are you offering to go fishing with me, Swan?"

She shrugged slightly, a mischievous smile playing on the corner of her mouth, still red and damp from his kisses. "Wouldn't want to interrupt your plans for the day."

"I am nothing if not flexible." He watched her face, the way her eyes lit at his obvious set-up, then narrow as she wondered if he was planning to turn the tease back on her. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, her eyebrows drawing together.

"Nothing?" he asked, grinning. "No witty retort?"

"Too many," she complained.

"Just as good. I'll have to note that making the set-up too obvious will also shut you up."

"'Also'?"

He swooped in and reclaimed her lips, eliciting a low moan from her as he fluttered his tongue across the roof of her mouth.

"That is, perhaps, my favorite way," he mused, pulling away to a slight whimper from her that made his blood sing. "But perhaps not appropriate for polite company."

She narrowed her eyes at him, not as though she were angry, but as though she were considering something, then, with a quick glance around that swept the marina, the other boats in dock, and the quiet harbour, Emma stepped out of his arms, grabbed his wrist, and tugged him (quite willingly) in the direction of the small cabin astern.

She got this way, he noted as the sun winked out when she kicked the door closed behind them and his eyes adjusted to the dim light, when emotions ran high. She was uncomfortable with feelings and had to seize control or feel that she was flying apart. Killian thought someday it might be very exciting to have the upper hand on her, but today, when she had borne her heart to him, he would gladly relinquish to her the reigns.

Emma dropped his hand and stood in the centre of the tiny room still and steady. She didn't fidget or look away from him- her chin was up and her eyes defiant. He knew her so well, and knew that defiance was just another layer of armour around her precious, vulnerable heart.

He prayed (to whom, he couldn't say- his mother, Liam, or some nameless gods he'd never truly believed in) that someday the only armour that heart would need was him.

As it stood, seizing control of the situation seemed to involve seizing the front of Killian's shirt and shoving him backward onto the tiny bunk built into the wall. As he sat, looking up at her, he wondered if the awe he felt was showing through his face. He could not take his eyes off of her as she straddled him, putting her mouth nearly close enough for him to claim again. He strained upward, a penitent in Hell desperately clawing toward the heaven he can see just out of his reach.

She shifted away, which ground her centre against him exquisitely, but left him chasing her mouth with his until he landed on her shoulder, kissing leather rather than skin. He heard her chuckle above him, another shift, a brush of her hands and a rush of cool air as she unbuttoned the top button on his shirt, then ran her fingertips through the exposed hair of his chest, leaving fire in their wake.

He leaned back, bracing himself with his hands so that he was at her mercy, and she shifted forward, dropping the blazing heat of her core right over the zipper of his jeans, making him close his eyes to the vision of her above him for the first time and let out a near-pained hiss between his teeth.

"Have a care, Love," he murmured, counting buttons and clenching his fingers in the rough sheets he used on the bed on the ship. "Keep wriggling about like that and this will be over long before it starts."

Her hands, which had long since finished with his shirt and begun to fiddle at his belt stilled and suddenly her warm weight was gone from his thighs.

Killian's eyes popped open and he sat up quickly, afraid for a mad, wild instant that she had gone- vanished, fled, or left in disgust. She wasn't and hadn't, of course. She was standing again in the middle of the tiny space, limned in the golden light from the windows as she shrugged her red leather jacket to the floor.

He watched it fall, heart thrumming fit to jump from his chest; that symbol of protection and safety gone, leaving her bared to him.

She seemed to have more baring in mind as her cream-coloured blouse joined her red jacket, and Killian lifted his eyes to find her standing before him in a teal bra and her jeans, miles of pale-pink skin on display, making his mouth water. He reached forward to touch, but Emma stepped back, a smile playing on her mouth.

"Not yet," she said, hands going to the button on her jeans.

"Please, Love."

"You'll get your chance just… not yet."

He caught the barest peep of turquoise lace beneath her jeans before she turned away from him and bent to remove her boots.

Loathe as he was to tear his eyes away from the pert, round bottom now at his eye-level, Killian thought perhaps he would be best served to follow suit. He knew he'd be furious if, when the time came, he was forced to fight his laces in extremis. Luck was with him and they didn't knot when he tugged, and he had his boots and socks off in a moment and decided, on reflection, to shrug out of his unbuttoned shirt at the same time, tossing it onto a chair that sat in the corner.

This done, he turned his attention to Emma again as she stepped out of her jeans and turned to him, clad in nothing but those two scraps of lace the colour of the Caribbean sea.

"Gods," he breathed, drawing his eyes over her, top to bottom, and then again, from bottom to top. When he reached her sea-glass eyes again, she was blushing slightly, but her smile was feral.

"Emma," he grated out, that smile shooting through him, speeding his heart and tightening his groin until he thought he might go faint.

She turned her back to him again and peeked coquettishly over her shoulder as she reached back and unhooked her bra, allowing it to fall to the ground, but giving him not a glimpse of what had been revealed. He licked his lips with a tongue that seemed to have gone suddenly dry as she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her knickers and tugged, finally clad in nothing but the golden afternoon light and his adoring gaze.

She turned, and his world seemed to contract to a single point, and that point was her. Monsters could rampage through Storybrooke, the ocean could swallow them up, they could be transported by curse to another world, and he would notice nothing but her. He seemed to have forgotten even how to blink, wanting to miss nothing of this sight.

"Lie back," she said just as he seemed to find enough autonomy in his shaken soul to reach for her.

"Love?"

"Lie back and think of England," she said taking a step toward him, though still out of his reach.

He snorted at this bit of cleverness. "As you wish," he said and, with a bit of squirming, found a semi-comfortable position on the too-short berth. It really wasn't designed for two to share, but that mattered very little suddenly when Emma began to crawl, lithe as a tiger, up his body.

When her face came level with his, he chased after her for a kiss, only to be ignored as she moved past, continuing up until she straddled his chest, dark-gold curls so close that his senses were overwhelmed by the scent of them- warm salt blending perfectly with the briny breeze outside their sanctum.

He looked up to find her looking down at him- a goddess demanding worship, and he a willing supplicant.

Killian reached up, finally, _finally_ touching her petal-soft skin to guide her forward. Once she was settled above him, his hands on her hips, not to guide, merely to reassure himself that this was no dream- she was in control entirely- her thighs blocking his ears to any sound but those she made, his eyes full of the sight of her, his nose with the smell of her, he dove in with his final sense to drown in her taste.

She was honey in the salt sea, slick and buttery and decadent on his tongue. At first he wasn't looking to inflame, merely to learn and savour, long exploratory passes of his tongue that found secret places that made her squirm and keen.

After some minutes of this, however, she began to shift above him, guiding his mouth where she wanted it most. He raised his eyes to look up along her long, pale body, arched above him with one hand on the wall to steady herself. She looked down at him and he grinned against her flesh before returning his attention to the work at hand.

If Emma wanted Killian to prove that his high school teachers were correct in classifying his tongue as "too quick for his own good," he would do so, and be sure it was a ride to remember.

He had noted in his explorations, from her twitches and moans both the location and sensitivity of that sweet pearl of nerves that would set the stars off behind her eyes. One hand slid off her hips and between her legs, stroking where his tongue could not reach, sliding inside as his tongue set up a deliberate, massaging rhythm that he built up slowly, carefully, one beat at a time until, after a few minutes, she was being whipped to a frenzy, both his tongue and his fingers working quicksilver fast against her. She squirmed above him, by turns pressing closer, desperate for completion, then pulling away as though afraid it was too much. He was pleased when she seemed to finally decide, pressing against his tongue, grinding herself into him, spurring him forward to push his clever tongue on.

He was tired but determined- if Emma wanted this, he would see to it she had it. He suckled and licked, and crooked his fingers forward to that elusive and gratifyingly sensitive spot, finding it after a moment just as he felt the muscular walls around his fingers begin to flutter. Pressing his advantages, he heard and tasted and smelled it even before he felt it- a rush of warm wet over fingers and tongue, a low cry above him, every muscle in her body going tense and, for the first time, his hand on her hip tightened, keeping her in place when she might have moved away, keeping her close so he could push her through the orgasm, extending it, and bringing her down gently from that shuddering peak.

Once her muscles seemed to go to water beneath his fingers, he released her, allowing her to flop down boneless onto the berth beside him. He moved, adjusting them both to better fit into the space that could not really accommodate them, but as she seemed inclined to lay, more or less atop him, they managed.

With Emma momentarily unresisting, Killian took the opportunity for the first time to explore the acres of satin skin he'd been admiring.

"The girls always did say you had the devil's own tongue," Emma murmured against his shoulder as he stroked his hands over her.

"What girls?"

She shifted slightly to be able to speak easier, rolling slightly against the hull of the boat and giving him access to one pert, pale breast as she did so. "It's one of Ruby's pet theories- clever, quick-witted people are good at…" she shrugged and gasped slightly as he ran a thumb over her nipple, which went stiff and sensitive in a moment.

"Not sure I appreciate Ruby Lucas speculating about my prowess in any such regard," he said, paying little enough attention to the conversation as he turned his hand to span her breast, which fitted neatly in his palm, the nipple hard against the sensitive skin of his scars.

Emma's skin went to gooseflesh as he ran a thumb along the underside of her breast, then continued down her side to the jut of her hip. "Not just Ruby," she said as her eyes drifted shut. "Get three glasses of sauvignon blanc into Mary Margaret and she's got a theory on everyone in town. Not that she remembers them in the morning."

"You, of course, are merely a circumspect observer to this speculation," Killian said as he felt her muscles tense upon finding a ticklish spot in the hollow of her hipbone. "You would never indulge."

"There's that clever tongue again," she said, stretching slightly and shifting to give him more space to explore. "I'd have expected it to be tired. At the very least, I've learned my new favorite way to shut you up."

He couldn't help a smile. "Best not share that with the girls," he said, his hand skating across the outside of her thigh, which shifted open, inviting him to the warmth between, "they'll all want to try it, and then David and Mulan will take turns running me through…"

"Me first," she murmured as he began to stroke the sensitive insides of her thighs. "I'd prefer to keep my boyfriend's wagging tongue to myself."

"Is that what I am?" Killian asked, feeling pleased. "Your boyfriend?"

Her eyes, which had drifted shut for a moment popped open and met his, her eyebrows drawing together overtop them. "Of course you are. Who told you different?"

"No one, but you'd never exactly said…"

She shrugged against the sheets. "Thought it was obvious I guess. 'Boyfriend' seems a little juvenile- like we're in high school or something- but you're my man. My guy. My…" she hesitated a moment, "mine. If you want to be."

"Aye Love," he said softly, his fingers finally reaching the warm wet core of her. "I want to be."

That seemed to galvanize her, because she moved suddenly, pushing herself up and dislodging his fingers until she was straddling his hips. Killian bit his lower lip as she rose above him again, and for the first time in some minutes he was aware again of the discomfort of his cock in his jeans.

Her clever fingers went to work at his belt again, and this time he didn't stop her as she undid his flies gently.

"There's another of Ruby's theories," she said as she carefully lowered his zip. "She said there was no way you were wearing boxers under those tight pants of yours, but you don't seem the sort for briefs. She thinks you must go commando."

He could feel the heat of her so close as the zipper came undone, no fabric in the way and shook his head on the pillow. "I don't always, but packing underpants for a fishing trip is too civilized, and wearing the same ones several days running is too barbaric, so it seemed the only compromise."

She snorted as she moved to tug his jeans down over his hips, climbing off the berth as she tugged them down and left them crumpled on the floor.

Killian lay completely still as she stood again, looking at him for a long moment, as though drinking him in.

"Alright?" he asked after a moment, beginning to feel uncomfortable.

Emma smiled, the left side of her mouth rising slightly higher than the right. "You'll do."

She crawled up his body again, drawing his eyes to her swinging breasts and swaying hips, which aligned with his as she took his hands in hers, lifted them above his head, and leaned down to kiss him. Killian opened to her onslaught and gloried as she swept into his mouth where he was sure she could taste herself on his tongue. Lower down her warmth and wetness rubbed against him and with every shift, her breasts moved against his chest. He was at her mercy, and happy to be.

She sat back eventually, a goddess in all her glory and took pity on him, poor penitent sinner that he was, by reaching between them and taking him in hand, rubbing the head of his cock against the slick centre of her slowly, nearly letting him enter, then drawing him forward and circling her clit, then back again, just the barest fraction deeper, and then away until he thought he might go mad with the sweet slow torment of it all.

"Do you want me to beg?" he asked finally through gritted teeth.

She stopped for a moment, looking at him. "Would you?"

"On my _knees_ , Emma Swan," he swore.

She grinned and shifted again, rising up and lining him up to her, still slow, but deliberately so now, with a goal in mind. Killian's eyes nearly crossed with the sweet, frustrating pleasure of it, but the moment the head of his cock reached the silky wet opening, he gripped her hip to stop her.

"Condom," he grated out.

Emma went still. "I'm clean," she said, "and I've been on the pill practically since Henry was weaned."

"I'm clean," Killian repeated in answer to the un-voiced question in her eyes, "but I'll not take any risks with you. There's one in my wallet, in my jeans."

She gave him an odd, speculative look, but crawled off of him to rummage in the clothes on the floor for a moment before returning, foil package in hand.

"You're sure?" she asked as she settled herself across his thighs again.

"I said I was," he said, reaching for the condom. "Give it here."

"I'll do it," she said, pulling her hand out of his reach. "Henry's existence notwithstanding, I do actually know how to use one of these things."

Killian relaxed back to watch Emma turn her attention to the packet in her hand. He had relinquished control to her completely so far, but there was an itchy desire under his skin- not dissatisfaction, just an odd sense that he wasn't doing enough. He didn't want to control or dominate her, he just wanted to see her relax and give in to the pleasure he could give her.

She rolled the condom onto him, the heat of her hand making him hiss in pleasure and lose his train of thought for a moment. He opened his eyes to find her hovering above him, poised on the brink, but hesitating.

"I love you, Emma Swan," he said, barely more than a whisper, but it seemed to be the right thing to say as she sank onto him, surrounding him in heat and wet and glorious sweet pleasure, making him close his eyes at the feel of it.

Then her hands were on his chest and she began moving and he opened his eyes to watch her. Everything she did enraptured him- from the subtle play of muscle beneath her flawless skin, the way she bit her lower lip and closed her eyes as she rode him, single-mindedly seeking her own pleasure with his body. Her eyebrows came together, creating a small crease at the top of her nose and her teeth sunk that fraction deeper into her lip, and he could see the way her breath came faster.

He slid his hands up her smooth thighs, one to land at her hip, the other to slide between them to that silken nub that made her gasp and those green eyes to fly open to stare at him- lust-drunk and nearly blind. He began again the quick, hard rhythm that had sent her over the edge with his tongue, watching as she drove herself against him, mindless and near desperate.

She went bowstring-taut and let out a tiny, high-pitched "oh" as she rode it out against him, internal muscles clenching around him desperately.

"That's my girl," he murmured, slowing his hands as she slowed her hips. "My Emma."

She came down, after a moment, both figuratively and literally, dropping forward to her hands came to rest framing his head, leaning forward from her hips.

She squeezed him, still hard inside of her and narrowed her eyes at him.

"You didn't…?" she said.

He shrugged. Honestly, he hadn't even been close- too distracted by watching her, by pushing her over the edge to even think about himself and his own pleasures.

"Fine, you've proved your point," she said, and he was shocked to see that she was frowning slightly.

"What point is that?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. Something about stamina, or the lady always comes first?"

"That's just good form."

"This was supposed to be about both of us, Kil. Was it not… did you not…"

She wouldn't look at him suddenly, and he had to stop whatever impossibility was running through her mind. He reached up to cradle her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him.

"No, Emma. Whatever it is that you've got running through that pretty head of yours, I guarantee it's wrong. It was not bad for me, it was completely brilliant. You did nothing wrong. Best sex I've had in my entire life."

"I want you to come, Killian. What can I-"

He pushed himself up on his elbow and kissed her to stop her finishing the thought.

"Nothing," he said as he pulled away. "I want you to do nothing."

He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her down onto the thin mattress, twisting above her in a manner with which he was relatively impressed, given the size of the berth and his own state of arousal. If he were a Harlequin Romance hero, he'd have managed it without pulling out of her, but he was only a man. Finally, having situated himself between her legs, he looked down at her for the first time.

"Killian-"

"Just trust me, Love. Can you do that?"

She bit her lip and looked at him, but nodded after a moment, a small smile lifting the corner of her mouth.

"Just lie back and think of England," he said, sliding himself back inside of her velvet heat.

He pushed into her deep and strong and rhythmic as the sea, and like the sea he would without warning begin to move faster, then slower, then harder, and then gentler. She seemed to want to meet him thrust-for-thrust, but couldn't seem to catch his beat and finally stopped, allowing him his power.

"That's my girl," he murmured into her ear, twisting his hips so that he ground against her and made her gasp. "Leave it to me, Love."

She was building again, he could feel it in the way her breathing quickened and her muscles fluttered. Twice before he'd found the correct rhythm for her, he could find it again like a song he'd been practicing for hours, and this time he was sure he'd hit every correct note.

When she flew, he tumbled as well. It was like being sucked under the ocean as the waves crash again and again, robbing breath and dragging you out into the dark and beautiful deep.

When he could think (and see and hear) again, he rolled off of Emma to keep from crushing her, only to find her clinging to him like a barnacle. He adjusted their positions so that she was sprawled atop him again and sighed at the sheer pleasure of having her in his bed.

"So are you only ever going to be able to get off if you're on top?" she muttered against the skin of his breast.

"Just proving a point."

She pushed herself up onto her elbow and glared down at him, her hair a riotous halo around her face that made him grin.

"So _now_ you have a point to prove. What's that then?"

"Only that you don't always have to do everything. Sometimes you can let people do for you."

She snorted and laid down across him again. "I suppose I can let you fuck me occasionally, so long as you promise to let me fuck you sometimes as well."

"I'll have you know that what we just did was making love, Swan. Fucking usually involves a desk or the backseat of a car."

"We'll have to compare dictionaries eventually," she said, and she sounded as sleepy and happy as Killian felt.

He reached up to stroke her hair, only to have her grab his hand in hers, bringing it to her mouth to kiss across the old white scars. She continued down, past his pulse and onto his forearm where another woman's name burned across his skin.

"What's the anchor mean?" she asked after a few minutes.

Killian brought his hand up with hers still wrapped around it to touch the black anchor on his left breast over his heart.

"It's Liam," he said simply, knowing she'd understand.

"And the one on your back?" she asked, referring to the tattoo almost directly opposite Liam's. "I didn't see it well. Is it a star?"

"Triskelion," he said, feeling his accent thicken slightly on the ancient word. "It's the Celtic symbol of the Trinity- Father, Son, Holy Ghost? It's my mother."

She said nothing, just traced Liam's anchor over and over with her fingertips, as though she could darken the mark, or reach Liam himself through her touch.

Maybe someday, he thought as her movements slowed and her muscles relaxed, and he could feel her beginning to drop toward sleep against him, he would get another tattoo. A swan bracketing the other side of his heart for balance. He'd never blot out Milah, but perhaps he could put Henry on his other arm- an unbroken part of him.

He wouldn't say it to her, he decided as she gave a soft snore and he kissed the golden top of her head, but she was already under his skin in a way he knew he'd never get out. She might run from him, but he had a feeling he'd follow her to the end of the world, or even time.

But for now, she wasn't going anywhere. She was safe in his arms, and they were rocked by the gentle sea, and he let himself fall asleep knowing he would wake with her.


End file.
